


So Today, We Celebrate

by starsweptmeow



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Arc V Anniversary, Gen, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsweptmeow/pseuds/starsweptmeow
Summary: A collection of one-shots for Arc V anniversary month 2018.





	1. Day 1: Smile

The pendulum is on the right today.

Yuya smiles at his friends, and he _means_ it. He walks to his two schools—the hard one and the fun one—and he laughs with Yuzu, and he is glad. The sun streams down from above, turning all the buildings into glistening jewels, and he stretches out his arms to welcome in its warmth.

He pulls out his cards at every opportunity he gets, his mind bursting with new strategies. When the teacher calls on him and he doesn’t know the answer, he plays it off until the class starts to laugh.

He duels, and he can feel his father’s words humming in his body, pulsing in his movements. He is at his _best_ , arms open, head held high, entertaining as only he can. There in the middle of the arena, he shines in the light of a hundred smiles; he burnishes from the sun of the joy he’s inspired.

 

The pendulum is on the left today.

Yuya smiles at his friends, but his face struggles to hold up the corners of his mouth. He walks to school—the boring one and the boring one—and he clowns about with Yuzu until the concerned look in her eyes has eased to annoyance. The sun beats down and casts the world in hazy silver, and all he wants to do is lower his googles and tint it orange.

He hardly hears the teacher call on him. He hardly hears Yuzu’s urgent whispers. But he clearly hears his classmates’ snickers.

He duels, but the cards feel lifeless in his hands. The principal’s alternating shouts of encouragement and shouts of admonishment fall, powerless, before they can reach his ears. He smiles; he tries to laugh, to entertain all his friends that have gathered here just to watch him. But all he can think about is winning. Winning, and quieting those voices in his head, those thousands of knife-edged jeers that have echoed forward to this moment.

 

The pendulum is in the middle today.

Yuya smiles, sometimes politely, sometimes out of habit, but sometimes with real warmth. He walks to his schools, and he and Yuzu chat comfortably about their schoolwork, about their upcoming duels. The day is sunny, and the air he breathes in is clear. The teacher doesn’t call on him, and no one laughs—not at him or with him.

He duels, and the plays are as he practiced, the moves are what he knows. He reminds himself to duel with a smile; he reminds himself to entertain the crowd. His friends give him an encouraging cheer, bolstering his smiles and his shouts. He isn’t quite there yet, he knows it, so he pushes on forward.

 

The pendulum swings, back and forth, and it traces out the arc of Yuya’s smiles. The world turns on.


	2. Day 7: Mechanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is fractured, and she is broken, but she and him and this space in between them can still birth something new.
> 
> Welcome, everyone, the introduction of the newest summoning mechanic: Pendulum.

He was stirring. He was stirring. Why?

She could feel it, she could feel it, she could _feel_ it. He was stirring, he was gathering himself up, he was stretching, reaching for something, _something_.

He was awake.

In these strange, twisting, in-between places, it was her and him, tangled up together. Broken, fractured, far-flung pieces of two souls. Twined together, looped around each other so tightly, that when he shifted, when he shifted and strained, when he _awoke_ …so did she.

She was awake.

She hadn’t always been. But then she had felt it, this great _swell_ , this great pressure. There, in some tiny piece of her consciousness, this _pressure_ , from him, from all the hims, and from the _hers_ as well. And then this, this. This jolt. This jolt had broken the floodgates. It had all crashed down over them both. Dripping in water, newly awakened, this was them. This was them.

This was them, now, here, and she could _feel_. She could feel herself here, and there was also something _there_ , past her, in her, outside her. Her selves, yellow, green, purple, pink. Fear and anger and frustration and—oh, oh, _love_.

She could feel it, she could feel _love_ , swelling up inside of her, bursting out from her broken cracks, swarming out into the true world. And it felt like too much, too much, like she was blinking in the bright light of a sun just now switched on.

And then she could _see_ , hazy glimpses through the eyes of her self—the pink one—and the world swam with all the colors she had nearly forgotten.

And there he was. There he was. The boy.

Oh. Oh. That boy. Oh.

That boy, so small, so precious, so hurt. She saw him, she saw him and his red and green hair. She saw him and his tears; she saw him and his dragon.

The boy _ached_ , and so _he_ ached and her self ached in reflection. And thus _she_ had to ache too, and oh, oh, this isn’t what she wanted to feel. This isn’t what she wanted at all.

What did she want? What was it she wanted?

She wanted to hold him. The boy. She wanted to hold him tight; she wanted to protect him from the enemies she could feel lurking all around them. Those monsters with the yellow eyes that crouched in the stands, just waiting, waiting to leap out the moment they sensed the easy kill. They would devour him; they would _devour_ him.

This she felt. This she knew, through him. The angry him. The him tied tight around her. He felt this, he _knew_ this, in every shattered piece of his existence. He was shuddering, he was vibrating, he was furious and scared and focused, and he was _will_.

Why? Why? What was this he wanted? What was his aim?

Oh. She felt it then, coiling around them both. This deep _power_ , flowing around them, through them, between them. Had it been here all this time? Maybe, probably. It _felt_ right. It _felt_ like a part of him, a part of her, a part of _them_.

This is what he wanted. This is what he was _trying_ for. She could feel it all, she could feel it _all_ , the strength and the potential, and his hope, and his desperation, and what he thought of this power swaying between them. She could feel what he wanted to create; she could trace the form of how he wanted to shape this power.

But- but it was wrong. It was impossible for him. Did he not know? Could he not tell?

She felt his pieces shiver, weakening. He felt it too. There was something missing.

He was but his darkness. She was but her light. They shattered the rest. They shattered the rest, and tossed them to the four corners of their existence, and that was supposed to be that, wasn’t it? That was supposed to be that, but no, but no, he wanted more, and she couldn’t let him, she couldn’t let him, because that was now her role. The protector. The guardian. The jailer.

And so, in the chasm between them, in the miles and miles of distance collapsed down into a single point of nonexistence, there had formed the power. There had formed that great energy she sensed now, around them, that he was tugging on, pointlessly, hopelessly.

He needed her. He needed her light.

_He_ needed her, too. The boy. The beautiful, beautiful boy, chased in red and green. She could hardly bear to look at him.

And _she_ needed her. The pink one. The pink self. For him. For her. For him and for everything he was to her.

They needed this. They all needed this: her selves, him, his selves.

Just her, alone, didn’t need it.

But she was only her light now. She was only her light now, and her light could never, ever resist. That was never what it was meant to do.

So she bent, she bent into him. She drew an arc with him, between them, and she pulled on the power soaking around them. She pulled on it to start it swinging, and she pulsed, and she  _screamed_.

And there. It was done.

The boy raised his head then, eyes widened in awe. She felt her self’s relief. She felt _him_ take over, the shattered one, his presence leaving her for the boy, to guide him, to direct him, to taint him.

She could do nothing now. She would be nothing for much too long. But there was nothing to be done. There was nothing to be done.

So she slumped, exhausted, back into her empty oblivion.


	3. Day 14: Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena had shot thousands of arrows out at the jagged rocks that rimmed the sea around Academia, but she had never aimed at a living creature before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by dark-angel-of-muses's lovely picture of Serena [here](https://dark-angel-of-muses.tumblr.com/post/172925537692/arc-v-anniversary-day-14-hunting)!

Serena nearly vomited, the first time went hunting.

She’d gone out with a group of schoolmates, out to the tip of the rock formation that swung out into the sea, then curled in towards the island as if claiming the waters under its arm for Academia. Some of them had brought guns, some of them had brought nothing and were just along for the show, but Serena had brought her bow.

Her bow. Sixty-six inches of solid wood, taut bowstring, and raw, contained power. She’d made it herself.

When she was younger and still had a roommate, she’d read a book the girl had lent her, where the main character was able to survive in the wild by making her own bow. The idea had captivated her, but it was only until much, much later, when she found one, broken and old, confiscated from another student, that she finally knew what a bow looked like. And thus, Serena had found herself with something she wanted to devote herself to that wasn’t Academia, that wasn’t dueling.

The next few months she spent hunting through the island for the perfect materials. An X-acto knife from the card supply store, for her carving knife. Rope from the docks, unwound and rewound thinner, for her bowstrings. Feathers she’d picked up near the sea, for her fletching. The rare appropriately shaped rock (else a simple sharpened wooden point instead), for her arrow tips. Pieces of broken furniture found in cluttered storerooms and off-limits closets, for her bow staves. All of this, done in the moments she could snatch away from dueling, to run into empty rooms and out unguarded doorways for half hours at a time, always alert for any teachers who might pass by.

When it was complete, her hours shifted to nighttime, after everyone else had fallen asleep. She’d slip out her window, bow and arrows tight in hand, and hurry out to the very edge of the island. With the moon as her only light, her only companion, and her only witness, she’d stay there for hours, shooting arrow after arrow at the small squares of wood she placed among the rocks.

This was her one luxury. The one thing she gave herself, outside of dueling. Her one transgression against the Professor.

This hunting expedition was illicit, too. She wouldn’t have ever been a part of it if the other students hadn’t been so loud, scampering along the rocks without a thought for how far their laughter carried. She had stepped out to follow them, curious about where they were headed with those small black guns—forbidden at Academia, but likely snuck in when they’d first arrived—strapped to their sides.

She thought she’d been sneaky, tailing them at a distance and dodging behind rocks, but then one of them spotted her.

“Hey!” the girl shouted, eyes locking onto Serena. “Who’s there?” The others all turned.

The girl walked closer, her hand resting against her gun, as Serena stepped out from behind the large rock outcropping.

“Oh. You’re Serena, right?” the girl said, the edge disappearing from her voice. “I see you’ve got a bow there. We’re going hunting. Care to test it out with us?” She smiled, and to Serena it looked like bared teeth.

She also seemed to not care that Serena had been very suspiciously lurking behind some rocks just now.

Serena cast her gaze over the small group of students. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Great! Then hurry. We’ve only got another hour or two before all the teachers return,” the girl said, running back to her friends.

The rest of the group led them up to the very edge of the rock arm, stopping just feet away from the drop off. Serena breathed in the sea air and turned to face the waters. Behind her, the other students clattered about, joking with each other and checking their guns. There was a loud bang as someone fired out into the sea.

“Ooo…see that bird there?” one of them said. “Who’s gonna be the first to take it down?”

Serena turned at that, to see him stretching one arm out towards a dark form in the distance, circling high up under the clouds. He took out his gun, then, mouth crooked up into a grin. Everyone fell silent as he raised it up, taking careful aim at the bird up above. He moved the barrel of the gun a few degrees to their right. She saw him breathe in, out, once. His finger twitched; there was a bang. Everyone held their breath…then let it out in a great whoosh as the bird continued its circles, undisturbed.

The next few minutes passed in the same fashion, one person standing up, gun raised, eyes focused. The others would hush, and everyone would wait, tensed in anticipation, as they took careful aim. But they all missed.

“Are you going to try?”

Serena blinked, shifting her eyes away from watching the bird’s path to focus on the speaker. It was the girl again, fresh from a second failure, her mouth twisted into a grimace.

Serena stood up from the rock she’d been perched on, one finger sliding up and down the polished wood of her bow. It was itching to give it a try, she could feel. It was eager to prove itself.

“Okay,” she said, picking up an arrow—one of the best she’d made—off of the pile she had stacked at her feet and stepping towards the outcrop everyone else had shot from.

She looked back up at the bird, still wheeling about in circles, clearly visible against the silver sky. What species it was, Serena couldn’t say, but it looked big, much bigger than the songbirds she saw in the courtyard sometimes.

They’d all been aiming to the right, before, out and away from the buildings of Academia, their bullets falling uselessly down into the gray waters below. But the bird—perhaps annoyed by the disturbances to the air around it—had shifted over, to the left, until Academia was right under its wings. The buildings looked so small from here, with even the highest towers dwarfed by their distance from the bird.

She notched the arrow in place and raised up her bow. She pulled back on the string and waited, one heartbeat, two, watching the arc of the bird’s path.

_Now_. Her fingers parted, and the arrow shot through them, curving high, up, up into the air. They all watched, breath held.

The arrow drew closer—and  _there_. A hit. Serena grinned. The other students let out a great cheer as the bird jerked back, then twisted, down, down to the black rock below.

But her initial rush of pride vanished as she watched the bird fall. Its movements looked so  _unnatural_ , compared to before. It was tumbling, twisting, its once elegant shape now just a tangled mess of feathers and wings and the straight, slim shaft of her arrow.

“It landed over there!” one of them said, running back along the rocks in the direction he was pointing.

All the rest rushed to follow him, some stopping to pat Serena on the back as they passed. She followed too, gathering up her arrows and staying at a distance, her steps heavy and slow.

She reached the place where they had all gathered. One of them had grabbed the shaft of her arrow and had hoisted up the bird by it. He was waving it about in the air right now, to the cheers of the others.

Serena felt her stomach roil.

Now that she was this close to it, she could see how beautiful of a creature it really was. Its head and its body were a soft brown, flecked darker in a pattern that speckled down to its tail. Its wings were the same darker brown, veering towards black as they stretched away from the body, with dots of white tipping the points of its feathers. Its belly was the same pure, beautiful white. Except for in the middle, where her arrow was. Its shaft stuck out from a patch of dark blood that seemed to cling to the bird’s breast, stretching out and away like a disease.

The others were laughing and joking still. One started poking the dead bird with their finger. Another ripped out a feather and tickled the girl next to them with it.

Serena felt like throwing up.

No, she felt like taking her bow and shooting her arrows at them, one by one. Thunk, thunk, thunk.

But it wasn’t them that had caused this. It wasn’t their ammunition that had pierced that bird’s heart and sent it plummeting down from the heavens.

No, that hadn’t been their doing at all. It had been hers.

Serena swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. She walked along the jagged rocks that threatened to pierce through her shoes with every step. When she passed, a few turned their heads. One even dared to congratulate her. She nearly spat in their face.

She walked back to Academia alone. Her fingers were clasped tight around the wood of her bow—lovingly polished just a few hours ago with wax she had filched from the storerooms. She wanted to snap it. She wanted to break it into tiny pieces and hurl them into the sea and watch them be swallowed up by the churning, lashing, unforgivingly gray waters.

But she didn’t. Instead, she walked to her room. She pulled up her loose floorboard, and stowed the bow and the arrows away. She’d keep them, for another time. For another reason.

Never again would she use them for sport. This, she vowed. This, she could promise. Never again.

 

Serena had nearly vomited, the only time she’d gone hunting.


End file.
